Scarred
by TrueDemigodishness
Summary: Thalia considers the people in her life and what it means to be scarred and comes to a surprising conclusion. Flames are invited.


**Scarred**  
**In Which Thalia Considers the People in Her Life and Makes a Surprising Discovery**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympus/Heroes of Olympus, its characters, settings, events, etc.**

** I wish I did.**

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They had a new recruit; that was what started it. They had a new recruit, and as they were gathered around the fires after supper, they were answering her questions and regaling her with tales of the Hunt, the occasional backstory thrown in from those who were comfortable enough (most weren't). Reassuring her with the bright, alluring promise of the Hunt, and the utter unworthiness of the male of the species.

That was what started it, but, if she were being honest, that wasn't entirely the reason she was in such a reflective mood as she gazed into the hypnotic flames, surrounded by the happy chatter of her sisters through the otherwise quiet night. But what exactly was the reason, not even Thalia knew; she just _was_.

Maybe the reason was because as her sisters stressed that men were filth, a large part of her violently shouted agreement, while another, smaller, gently whispered, "Not all of them."

That whisper, so soft and passing that it reminded her of the thin smoke drifting lazily from the fire in front of her, so quiet, so gentle, so . . . _un-Thalia_, that whisper snagged her attention and led her to contemplate the men in her life.

All two of them. (Her dad, she reasoned, was never really _in_ her life.)

Both were, ironically, blond-haired and blue-eyed. Both were strong and independent, both leaders, both had that same innate trustability (if that was a word). She loved both deeply, and would have given her life for either; just as she was sure both would have done for her (_at least at one point_, she thought bitterly). Both were scarred.

Huh.

Like a giant rock in mid-stream, that single thought caught and held her attention fast.

_Scarred._

She pondered that word, turning it over and over in her thoughts.

There were so many different kinds of "scarred."

There are scars with bitter memories attached, and scars with fond memories attached.

There are scars you don't really remember, and scars that you will never forget, no matter how much you may want to.

Luke had one of the unforgettable scars, one of the bitter, painful ones. A scar that served as a constant, driving reminder of his pain, beyond, even, the physical.

These scars, mentally at least, are more like wounds that never heal, ripped open savagely every time the memory burns through your consciousness, burning and tearing at your mind, leaving you bitter, angry.

The thought crossed her mind that the scar everyone saw on Luke was maybe just the physical representation of the real scar.

Maybe the real scar was actually much deeper.

Not wanting to dwell on that (or on _him_), she pushed on, her thoughts turning to her baby brother (not a baby anymore).

Jason, too, had a scar on his face, but there was a difference. While Luke's scar had made him look rugged and cruel, Jason's scar had always made him look cute when he was younger, and now made him look strong, like he had lived through something that left him scarred (she wondered how people would react if they knew all he had lived through was an unfortunate choice in diet).

Not all scars are bad things, she decided.

Scars tell stories, simple as that, and sometimes it's a happy story. Or at least, one you look back on with fond memories. Jason's scar was like that; she chuckled to herself just thinking about it.

Her next thought stopped her laughter cold: Jason's face may not be horribly scarred, but not all scars are physical. What if Jason was horribly scarred in another way?

That thought was similar to the ones she had abandoned earlier-the ones about Luke-but she didn't turn away this time.

Not all scars are physical.

That thought inexplicably turned her mind to Annabeth (another blond, she observed). Annabeth, who had plenty of physical scars, sure (she was a demigod), but those were unimportant. the important ones were the non-physical ones-the emotional ones. The ones that Thalia could see in the way she held herself: tense and stiff and aloof, afraid to get close; in the way she looked at you, like she was determining the best way to take you down, because her experience-those scars-told her that she'd probably have to to protect herself; the way she was quiet around strangers because she was afraid to open up.

Maybe most people couldn't see these scars when they looked at Annabeth, but Thalia could; Thalia was her best friend.

Now that she thought about it, she could almost see individual scars: the scar from when her father abandoned her (he did, no matter what _he_ says), the scar from when Luke betrayed her, the scar from when Thalia died (_left her_), and all the littler scars from over the years.

Yes, Annabeth was scarred.

You could see it the most when Percy disappeared (Kelp-Headed idiot); the pain was there, in her eyes, in her voice, in the way she carried herself.

Then that thought, of Annabeth's pained expression, led Thalia's wandering thoughts to the strangest twist of the night: her mother.

Her feelings toward her mother were confusing, but mainly negative, usually, but this time she allowed an entirely new concept to enter her thoughts.

Maybe-just maybe-her mother was scarred, too.

She let her thoughts dwell there for a bit.

What if Zeus's leaving had scarred her mother?

What if she was drunk all the time to deal with the pain of being scarred?

What if all the things Thalia had hated her for were just the results of her being scarred and unable to handle it?

She wasn't a bad person any more than Luke was a bad person; she was just hurting, like he was, and dealing with it badly, like he was.

She was weak, not evil.

She was just scarred.

For the first time in a long time, Thalia felt peace, and she suddenly realized why: she had finally forgiven her mother.

_Thalia Grace_ (yes, it was her mother's name, but it was Jason's name, too) _had forgiven her mother._

Allowing a small smile to play across her features, she turned back to the chatter of the other Hunters and joined in welcoming her new sister.

She'd deal with her father another time.

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**Hope you enjoyed!**


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